What You Lose
by Leo Luna
Summary: Inspiration is a powerful force, but as everything, it's not free. You have to rent it. As Mark struggles with a creative block, he finds solace in the oddest of places, while others discover that everything can change, no matter HOW permanent it seems.
1. Talent Doesn't Just Go Away, Does It?

So, this is my first ever Rent fic, and I've only seen the movie, and I've only seen it once, but I'll try to be as accurate as I can. Read and Review guys, I'd love to keep this going if people are interested.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rent. Fer srs.

...That was sarcastic chat speak, by the way.

* * *

If a happily ever after ever existed at all, Mark would have thought last Christmas Eve would have been it. He had just finished a film, one he was proud of, at that, about something real. Mimi was alive and Roger was happier than Mark had ever seen him. Maureen and Joanne were back together, and Collins was faring just as well. Even Benny had dropped by sometime around New Years, asking for a new beginning. Something Mark had at that time decided must have been the holiday spirit (more likely it was the fact that they were all deliriously happy and tipsy at the time, he had later realized) prompted them to give in, and now seeing Benny around town wasn't an occasion for a sneer and snarky remark, but a small smile and nod in greeting. The problem was something he hadn't thought of then: that wasn't the ending. There never really _was_ a happy ending, because the only real ending was death.

Now here he was, six and half months later, sitting next to a window in the loft, staring at the horizon line where the buildings met the sky across the street, a pen and blank notebook in front of him. After the Christmas Eve masterpiece he'd made, he hadn't come up with a single decent idea. He had even reverted to writing screenplays, always attempting to base characters on his friends without being too obvious, but that had only ended with a very, very odd character, something of a cross between Joanne and Mimi (lawyer by day, dancer by night) that had boggled even HIS mind so much he had given up. That was his problem, he now realized, the people in his life had become so vivid and real that manufactured characters, imaginary people from his head, couldn't even hold a candle (no pun intended on Mimi's behalf) to the real things.

With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the pen onto the table and put the notebook back by Roger's door, where he had snagged it, having planned on claiming he had no idea what happened to it if Roger asked. He crossed to the kitchen, opening the cupboards to see if by some small chance they had any snack food lying around. He pushed aside Roger's AZT case and a couple cans of vegetables, before finally seeing something that caught his eye. "Aaaha!" he exclaimed to himself, pulling out a package of Oreos. Heaven knows how old they were, but they looked perfectly fine to him. Carefully putting Roger's AZT back in it's place, he closed the cupboard and plunked down on the couch, already munching on the fantastic little black and white cookies. Glancing around, the biography of Alfred Hitchcock that he'd bought caught his eye, and soon he had immersed himself in chocolate and words.

* * *

He was halfway through both the book and the Oreos when there was a sharp knocking on the door. "Who is it?" he called, hesitant to get up since he'd finally worked the thin couch pillows into a comfortable mush position.

"MARK, open the dooooooor!" called a familiar female voice, and Mark sighed. After an attempted robbery, which would have been a successful robbery had Roger's guitar not proved a viable weapon (and it hadn't even been damaged), they had decided to put a lock on the door. Ever since then, Mimi had constantly been forgetting about the lock, and had already lost two keys despite the fact that she practically lived here now (they still kept her apartment downstairs, and had converted it into a studio for Mark's films, should he ever make another, Roger's music, and Mimi's dancing). Grudgingly, he folded down the page in his book, set the cookies on the table, and pushed the door open to reveal a slightly disheveled Mimi, who blew past him the second the door opened wide enough, depositing her purse in a pile on the floor, before sinking onto the couch.

"You okay, Mimi?" Mark asked hesitantly, afraid something was really wrong with Mimi. She was usually upbeat and hardly ever entered the apartment without a 'hello' and a smile, except on the occasion that she was pissed at Roger, in which case the typical greeting was either a slammed door or a 'fuck you'. Never silence. Mimi groaned slightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." she sat up some and looked over the back of the couch at Mark. "I absolutely _hate_ the heat." Mark let out a short laugh, hiding his relief. "Don't laugh, I'm serious!" she said, but there was a smile creeping onto her face, "It's murder on my hair. The damn humidity!" With that, she stretched out on the couch, occupying Mark's former spot. He should have figured. Rather than stand around awkwardly, he headed over to the sink, pouring two glasses of miraculously clean tap water and carrying one over to Mimi, who swallowed almost all of it in one gulp. She scooted over on the couch, making room for Mark.

"Any idea where Roger is?" he asked, sitting down and throwing his arm casually around her. Usually, Roger wasn't far from Mimi, unless of course they'd had a fight. Mimi rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, and I don't care!" she announced with what Mark could tell was mock conviction.

"Yeah, you do." he said matter of factly. She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again and sighed.

"Yeah, I really do. And I think he's with Maureen, working on music for her new play...concert...performance art..._thing_." On the final word, she threw up her arms. Mark knew what she was thinking, and the thought almost made him laugh.

"Mimi, trust me, Maureen and Roger is the last thing you'll ever have to worry about. When I was dating her she was here a lot, and all they ever did was argue over who ate the last bagel and bitch about each other when the other one wasn't around." Mimi giggled a little as he said this.

"I know. I'm ridiculous, I know he loves me. And I love him." A genuine, sincere smile came across her face, one of those contagious ones that made Mark smile as well. For a few seconds she stayed in that state, happy at the thought of her and Roger, their couple-y-ness and love. Mark was suddenly jealous, not of them particularly, but of their bliss. He hadn't had a relationship since Maureen, which was -Jesus Christ- over a year and a half ago. And Maureen had been quite a train wreck, anyway.

"So," Mimi interjected, bringing Mark out of his sour trance, "Any new films on the way? I think your camera's getting dusty in the studio down there." Mark shrugged.

"I've tried. But after last year...nothing seems good enough. I think I'm done. Talent's gone." As he made that last statement, Mimi's face became serious. She turned so that she was facing him and grabbed his chin, turning his head till he was facing her.

"Mark Cohen, you listen to me. If you can make a film as great as the one last Christmas Eve, you can make something better. In this world, there's never a time when you'll run out of ideas. Talent doesn't just go away. It just hides sometimes and you have to find something to bring it out. To inspire you." This was possibly the deepest thing Mark had ever heard Mimi say, to him anyway. He was sure she said things like this to Roger all the time, but she'd never had the cause or opportunity to bestow one on Mark. He smiled and nodded. She was making sense. Well, that and Serious Mimi was kind of freaking him out.

"Just like you inspired Roger," he said, and a smile once again broke out on her face.

"Yeah, like that." She patted his cheek like he was a little kid and sunk back into a comfortable position on the couch.

"Now all I have to do is find some sexy dancer that lives nearby and will throw herself at me willingly. _That_ shouldn't be too hard." he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Mimi stuck out her tongue and whacked him playfully in the back of the head.


	2. It's A Bit Late For That

So I'm back with Chapter Two already...I wrote it and didn't feel like letting it just sit there until I get a review or two, so here it is.

Disclaimer: Don't own Rent. Don't own the characters. Whatever.

* * *

Roger paced nervously outside the office door, obsessively straightening his tie. It was ancient, blue and green striped with some odd stain which he had tried viciously to get rid of this morning. It was also the only one he owned, and he hadn't worn it in over a year and a half. He hadn't had a _job_ in a year and a half. It was that exact thought that had prompted this uncomfortable ensemble of a button down shirt and a tie. He'd been working on a song for Maureen that morning, when he'd begun wondering if she planned on paying him. It was perfectly alright if she didn't, but it had gotten him thinking. Mimi danced, that was her job. Joanne was a lawyer, Maureen was a performance artist (even if it didn't bring in much money, it was something), Collins was teaching again, Benny was...well, he was Benny, and even Mark had at least _had_ a job, even if he'd quit. Roger, on the other hand, hadn't been bringing in money since, well since April. The girl, not the month, he thought with a little bit of bitter sarcasm.

So that was how he got here, pacing outside office door in a dark, dingy boutique that looked like it was run by someone who was either very, very unorganized or a complete lunatic. Half of it was a thrift shop, used clothes, some of which looked like they were from the 1920s, and old dish sets lined the walls on the right side of the store. The other side was all new clothes, pinks and purples and royal blues, every single color that stood out or made a statement was there in some form, and two mannequins wearing neon green and pink stood a few feet to his left, staring at him blankly. But the middle of the store was what had caught his interest. There sat an assortment of guitars, acoustic, electric, and bass.

He'd been walking along, looking for a store with a "Help Wanted" sign. There had been a lot, but none of them looked like they would pay well or not bore him out of his skull, until this one. He'd jotted down the number on the sign, and a woman with a crisp, no-nonsense voice named Ms. Bates had picked up and told him if he wanted an interview, he'd best come in today. She sounded old and cranky, which was just the type Roger like to work for. He would rather be able to dislike his boss, it gave him a sense of rebellion, and a feeling that he was actually doing something productive, since he wasn't really enjoying it. Weird, he knew, but that's how his mind worked. All that brought him here, leaning against a wall, nervous as hell.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, but suddenly the wall behind him fell away. At first he thought he was passing out, since he hadn't eaten much this morning–he'd been nauseous from his AZT and nothing in the kitchen had appealed to him. To his relief though, a hand caught him on the back and he managed to reel forward with a very ungraceful swinging of his arms. Upon righting himself, he turned around, and came face to face, well, more like face to the top of a head. He looked down a little and saw a petite girl with curly red hair and black, cat-eye glasses. It dawned on him then: he hadn't been leaning on the wall, he had been leaning on the _door._ He couldn't keep from blushing a little. Luckily the girl didn't seem to notice his embarrassment.

"You're here for the job position, I assume?" she said, in what Roger guessed was a slight British accent.

"Uh, ah, yes, that's me. Is...is Ms. Bates in?" he asked awkwardly. This was definitely not the same person he had heard on the phone. Maybe this was the secretary, although this didn't look like a place that would have one, and the girl was dressed in casual clothing that in no way resembled a normal secretarial attire: a pink and brown plaid blouse and blue jeans. The girl looked confused at first, but then she smiled, nodding.

"Oh yes, you spoke to my grandmother on the phone. She told me you'd stop by. She's Ms. Bates, I'm Fiona Bates. My grandmother owns this store, but I run it. I understand you're looking for work?" Fiona spoke very fast, and Roger could barely keep up.

"Um, I, ah, yes. I am." he finally managed to choke out. He could only hope that speech skills wasn't on the list of required attributes of a retail worker.

"Well..." Fiona said, looking him up and down, "You certainly don't look like a drunk or a junkie. You aren't are you?" she asked, rasing an eyebrow.

"What? Oh, no. Definitely not." This was one question he could answer with confidence.

"Other than that I don't really have any qualifications. Just try not to be late and call in if you're sick so I don't think you've been mugged or anything. Welcome to the work force, Mr..." she trailed off, and it took Roger a moment to realize she was asking his name.

"Roger. Roger Davis," he said, extending his hand, happy for another question he knew the answer to. Fiona shook his hand, her grip surprisingly hard.

"Great. Welcome, Roger. Now go home, I've got to call my friend at the electric company and see if I can get an extension on my payments. The rent for this place is killer. You can start tomorrow. Oh, and try to wear something you look a bit less awkward in." With that, she smiled again and started heading back into her office. Roger smiled as well, very proud of himself for getting a job. He started towards the door, but before he could get there, Fiona called his name again.

"Roger! One more question, sorry. This might be kind of awkward, but...do you have HIV or AIDS?" When she said this, Roger froze, a stone cold fear settling over his former happiness. He took a deep breath and turned around slowly.

"I..I..yeah. I have HIV." he said, looking at the ground, "Is that a problem?" Fiona shook her head, and Roger looked up a little. "Afraid I'll seduce and infect the rest of the work force? Which...I'm guessing is you?" He attempted to make a joke out of it, since she'd implied that it didn't make a difference. A small, sad laugh escaped her mouth, and she shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at him.

"It's a bit late for that," she said, and as if right on cue, both of their AZT beepers went off. With a small smile, Fiona headed back into her office, removing a pill box from her pocket on the way. Roger stood for a moment, somewhat surprised, then turned and left.

* * *

"Ahhh, dammit, come on..." Roger muttered, shoving the key in the lock again and jiggling it around. He was at a constant war with this lock, and was determined to win. He'd liked it much better when they didn't need a lock, but after having to fend off a robber with his guitar, he'd agreed that a lock was the best choice. He shook the key again, but the lock stayed put, refusing to budge. "God-" he didn't even get to finish his curse before the door flew open in front of him. Mark was standing there, a mocking smile on his face.

"Problems with the lock again?" he asked, and Roger rolled his eyes, pushing past into the apartment.

"So guess what?" he asked, wanting to reveal his good news, but also to get the topic off of his failure with the lock.

"You're going to take a class on how to work a key?" Mark jabbed, before tossing Roger his AZT case. "I believe it's time for one of those?"

"Yeah, yeah," Roger muttered, popping a pill in his mouth and swallowing. "Anyway, as I was saying, I just did something I've never done before." Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Really? And what's that?"

"I got a job." Roger announced, thoroughly enjoying the look of utter surprise that overtook Mark's previously sarcastic, smartass look.

"You?" he breathed, squinting at Roger, "Mr. I-Have-My-Music-And-Thus-No-Need-To-Work? Mr. Anti-Authority? Mr. Rebel? YOU have a job?" Roger nodded.

"Well damn. Hey, if that's what you were doing all of today, go find Mimi and tell her. She came by earlier for...well, actually I don't really know what she came for, but she seemed a little weirded out because she thought you'd been with Maureen all day." As Mark said this, Roger nearly exploded with laughter.

"Maureen? She's jealous of Maureen? I think I might die before I'd date her, or do ANYTHING with her, for that matter. Oh, no offense, man." He added, remembering that Maureen was the only girl Mark had ever done anything with.

"No worries. And that's what I said, and I told her about you and Maureen and the bagels-"

"Damn bitch always ate the last one and tried to blame it on me!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but the point is I think she's been missing you lately." Roger nodded as Mark said this, knowing he was right.

"I'll go look for her. She doesn't start work for another few hours, I'll take her out to dinner or something. I helped some guy load a drum set into his trunk on the street today and got ten bucks out of it." With that, he turned to leave, but paused for a moment. "Hey, Mark?" Mark looked up. "We gotta find you a woman." Mark shrugged.

"Yeah, I know."


End file.
